CONSEQUENT
by Vivacitii
Summary: At the heart of the matter, Dr. W.D. Gaster - Royal Scientist to the Crown of Monsterkind - truly is invested in assuring the wellbeing and future of his people. How he goes about achieving these advancements, however, is a different issue entirely... After all - the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, is it not?
1. Prologue: The End

…

 **Prologue:**

|| **The End. ||**

…

The high of death was extraordinary.

It slowed time; the feeling of the air rushing past him, growing ever hotter and hotter around his plummeting form…ceased. All motion _stilled_. Weightless, frozen in the final moments of contemplation, the final moments of conscious existence, he remained fully aware of the fate charging at his back, of the catalyst that was far above him - looking down. Until now, he had neither noticed the wetness upon his face nor the sharp pain blossoming in his chest spreading throughout his ribcage. A similar wetness was seeping through his coat, flecks of red falling, falling, falling with him into the churning, boiling miasma of his creation below.

 _If, then._

And it was as if he was simply suspended in midair, pitched upside down, staring back up at the ledge from which he had fallen. From this position he could clearly observe the precious drops of his portended undoing, the fleeting, crimson trail that marked the end of his mortality. His mouth remained open in a cry, eyes wide in ultimate shock, yet he could hear no sound - for the silence of the moment's finality was commandeering his senses. Perhaps he was not screaming; perhaps there _was_ no sound.

The gravity of it all was…overriding.

From that ledge the assailant peered down, an outstretched hand – an impulsive gesture, it seemed – extended in a foolish attempt to pluck him from the air. This, of course, was utterly futile. There was no ultimatum. He had destroyed himself long, _long_ before this moment.

Had he not been about to die in a blazing inferno of energy, he may have even laughed.

It was just so. very. _typical_.

But in that moment _he_ was reaching as well: futility, pride, station, all of that meaningless at Death's door.

And nothing, _nothing_ could be done.

There was no checkmate, no victory on either side. After having so meticulously arranged all of his pieces, he had lost track of whose turn it was, of where he had placed the King. The pawns, the rooks, the knights…they had blended together, the specific players scattered across the board no longer holding individuality or sides but morphing into a conglomerate that was wholly and treasonously against him.

He had willfully clad himself in black and white and every color in between – a clandestine camouflage of deceit…and disillusionment.

His body was already growing numb, the searing heat of what was approaching dominating his finer senses of touch. Whether it was because of the pain in his chest or the extreme temperature behind him, he could not tell, but he could see tendrils of ashen smoke curling from the fingertips of his outstretched hand.

Flames and electricity licked at his back, and he made eye contact with the figure above. Though now far below, his hand, smeared with red, continued to reach and reach and reach, his vision straining to fixate on any form of detail… Then, very suddenly, it was as if a heavy fog was lifted from the murk and mire of his tortured mind, and an abrupt lucidity descended upon him, the likes of which he had not experienced for months, if not _years_.

You see, when the destruction of existence is impending, when the fall into oblivion is imminent…Mind and Determination have a way of facilitating a terminal attempt at broken, _desperate_ clarity.

He breathed.

 _Life…is a hypothesis with multiple outcomes…_

The heat intensified. His hand was disintegrating.

 _Determined by—_

 _By—_

… _._

No words would reach before…

A hot, white light seared the corners of his vision.

 _Hope is…is— I…_

Dr. Gaster had learned…

 _He…had l_

…


	2. Ch 1: The Calm

_**Disclaimer:**_ UNDERTALE and the characters presented therein are the brilliant creations of _**Toby Fox**_ ; this is simply my interpretation of them. All original characters presented in this work belong to me. If you haven't played the game yet, I strongly encourage you do so - there will be _heavy_ spoilers for it in this story, and I wouldn't want to ruin your experience of the game! :)

 _ **Rating:**_ This work _will_ contain violent images and mature content. Rating is subject to change.

 _ **Author's Note:**_ Like most people, I had many lingering questions after playing Undertale. So… _ **so**_ many questions. For instance: how _does_ Sans know so much? What _is_ Chara's deal? How did those soul containers come to be? That Grillby fellow – what in the world is _his_ story?

 _And who the heck is Dr. W.D. Gaster?_

After many discussions, long bouts of theorizing with some wonderful writers, and a year of musing over potential character connections and backstories – this narrative was created! Of course, I know this is just one prequel of _many_ , but I do hope you enjoy reading this as much as I have enjoyed developing it! This story is just my way of giving back to a community that has given so much to me.

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

CONSEQUENT

—

" _In nature there are neither rewards nor punishments;_

 _There are **consequences**."_

– _R. Ingersoll_

—

 **Chapter One:**

 **|| The Calm ||**

—

Wingdings Gaster had _ideas_.

Many, many ideas, really. It was difficult to get an approximation as to how many flitted through his mind in a given day, but one could very easily assume the number, statistically speaking, was…well, _far_ above average. Usually at least two or three of these ideas were jotted down before breakfast – having seemingly materialized in his mind sometime during the dead of night from lord _knows_ where – and, by the afternoon, had garnered empirical support over just a single pot of tea and a brisk walk about town.

…Alright, perhaps that is a _trifle_ exaggerated.

But only a trifle.

To the average observer, academic musings seemed to pour from him like a fount, expertly channeled through wells of ink that, by his hand, spilled onto parchment into the patterns of coherent language. They were scribbled into the margins of preciously printed tomes and remained ever simmering in the back of his mind when no writing implements were readily available. This constant pondering was his reality, the daily placation of his ever-present desire to question and improve upon that which was considered to be " _established_ ," " _accepted_ ," and " _understood_."

From this, one would assume he was not monster at all, but a walking personification of raw ambition.

Now, if you had said the above to him, chances are he would have been thoroughly entertained by such a bizarre notion. Chances were even stronger that he would then happily launch into a philosophical discussion regarding the leading theories that supposedly "explained" the differences between monster and human souls.

It was almost certain, however, that he would try to convince you that they were all, in fact, _incorrect_.

This constant surge of ideas had most certainly set Gaster apart from the general proletariat, garnering the specific interest of the Royal Council and, subsequently, the Royal Academy. Moreover, it grabbed the attentions of none other than _Dr. Anton Athelas_ , the preeminent practitioner of Green Magic in the Monster Kingdom. Quite the promising future for an orphaned farm boy with the proclivity for causing all sorts of trouble, no? But, ah, such trouble is likely to happen when one finds joy in casually dissembling and reassembling any and all household trinkets within an arm's reach.

Yet, as they say: the best laid plans of mice and men often go astray.

And Wingdings Gaster, albeit a brilliant youth with an ever-blossoming intellect, was _no_ exception to this rule.

…

The Monster Kingdom's Royal Academy and its sprawling, ancient campus was situated in the countryside on the furthest outskirts of the Delta Region. The rolling hills and plains beyond it were speckled with the rural villages of neighboring human kingdoms, giving way to unsettled mountainous ridges that rose like hazy goliaths in the distance. During the daytime it was a rather idyllic scene: tall grass and golden gorse, the occasional cluster of trees dotting the land with cheery greenery - the very picture of serenity. On an afternoon that held the kindest of weather, beneath a sky of the most halcyon of blues, one could almost completely forget the mounting tensions between humanity and monsterkind.

Almost.

Nature does tend to offer pleasant diversions from such things – most likely because nature does not make a habit of taking sides.

A moderate hike south of the campus gave way to a lovely, undisturbed hilltop that Wingdings – or "W.D." as he _infinitely_ preferred – Gaster so admired. Aside from the library, this was his private sanctuary under the heavens whenever the weather was tolerable and the skies were clear. His finding it at all had been a happy little accident, and the serendipity of this discovery made the solace of the spot all the more sweeter. The monster would sit in exquisite silence, save for the sounds of evening nature, and observe the stars materialize one by one in the darkness, dusting the sky with the breathtaking shimmer of the cosmos. In this setting there was a clean understanding of smallness, of being a speck in the vastness of the unknown universe. It helped to smooth sharp edges of his mind. It lulled him, whispered to him, allowed him to enjoy a peaceful moment without the seemingly omnipresent anxiety harbored fr—

"This was a _much_ longer trek than you made it out to be."

The abrupt statement promptly severed his stream of thought.

Tilting his head to glance the approaching visitor, Corbel Curare's face appeared over the curve of the hilltop, eyes shining with soft reflection of the moonlight. A smile broke out across his features, and he silently listened to her approach towards his reclined form. When worn boots came to rest near the top of his head, white eyelights flitted up to observe the bipedal feline.

"It must be this perspective playing tricks on my eyes, for that simply _cannot_ be a scowl I spy."

Hands upon her hips, she regarded him with uncertainty, amber eyes searching the ground around him.

"Are you not cold on the grass like that?" she inquired, her dark copper tail flicking with preemptive agitation. "…Is it wet? I would like to not dirty my skirts – I just had them washed."

The skeletal monster hummed a sigh and turned his attention back to the night sky, resting his hands behind his head. "A very good evening to you as well, my dear Corbel."

The swoosh of her skirts sounded next to him, and she made a noise of displeasure.

"Oh, it _is_ damp, you ninny. You are going to catch your death out here in this cold air."

"Mm, doubt it. In fact, I hear there is a rather good medical academy not terribly far from here, though the name escapes me. The Royal…something."

"Oh-ho, _very_ funny."

"And, if my sources are correct, I do believe I am in the presence of one of the most talented practitioners of Green Magic in residence there, so I have no doubt I shall be in the _best_ of hands."

"Ever the shameless flatterer," she replied, flicking her wrist in a dismissive gesture. "Be gone, ye sycophant, and take your charms with you."

W.D. sat up and offered a shrug, a sonorous sigh highlighting his theatrical disdain. "Fine, then," he conceded, "reject my company. If I fail to catch my death from Nature's cruel elements, then surely you shall end me with a broken heart."

He turned to face the feline monster, exposing a mischievous smile, which he was relieved to see wholly mirrored on his comrade's face. Reclining upon his elbow, he regarded her for a moment, the mirth upon his countenance fading a bit as he did so. However, the action was not motivated from displeasure. No, no, not at all; he _cherished_ Corbel's company... It was simply that the Abyssinian's impressive eyes were trained on him; the sharpness of her gaze posing an equally sharp reminder to the profound warmth and biting intelligence that teemed brilliantly beneath the surface. Yes, he was certainly lucky to call such an individual his friend – if not his closest companion to-date.

And what a pair they were: both children of highly disadvantaged backgrounds plucked from their respective rural communities and provided with royally funded schooling. Of course, this was all in great thanks to the young Queen Toriel and her passionate advocacy for the expansion of education across her kingdom…

Her views were, to put it mildly, _unprecedented_.

Though met with some initial dissent, Toriel's charms had eventually won over the Royal Council, and official decree was soon passed – one that held a rather _trailblazing_ command. A system of scholarship was to be established, one that would foster and fund promising monster minds throughout the entire kingdom… _no matter their social class_.

Naturally, there was a major caveat to this: the individuals selected for scholarship were required to exhibit an _exceptional_ academic proclivity in some form. After all, as the Royal Council gravely posited, the monarchy needed to balance their _other_ financial obligations – a point to which Queen Toriel had reluctantly conceded.

Nevertheless, along with what turned out to be a fair amount of "promising minds," Corbel and Gaster had been selected as two youths deserving of this funding.

It was not rare for Gaster to ponder upon what could have been had the Royal Council _not_ caught wind of his penchant for designing water-powered versions of traditionally hand (or paw, claw, _etc._ ) powered threshing equipment. Perhaps without proper scholastic guidance such pursuits would have eventually waned… Living in a poor farming community, Gaster was _painfully_ aware that he needed to find assured ways of supporting himself.

Flights of mathematical fancy could not produce much without a wealthy benefactor, after all.

But this, fortunately, had not been the case. Instead, he was permitted to attend a prestigious boarding academy where he enthusiastically devoured every subject hurled in his general direction. As the years ticked by, both Gaster _and_ Corbel began to exhibit great potential and interest in medical studies. It was not long after their final years at their respective academies that both students were admitted into the highly honourable _Royal Academy of the Monster Kingdom_ in pursuance of doctoral training.

Considering their backgrounds, this was no small accomplishment.

The Royal Council had quietly taken notice.

Despite the stark (and at times _conflicting_ ) differences in their respective academic foci, the odd pair had still managed to click. Whether this was due to their similarly disadvantaged upbringings, their shared love of wordplay, or their mutual affinity for beautifully illuminated texts, between them the reality of their friendship was never a question of _why_.

It just simply _was_.

Though, if you had asked Gaster, he would have suggested that it was because Corbel was the only individual who could call him out on his bullshit with a pellucidity that hedged on supernatural. Corbel, however, would most likely decline comment – for why was she required to explain herself to _you?_

Ah, yes. See the aforementioned statement for one of the _many_ reasons as to why Gaster adored her so.

And yet…oh, and _yet_ , it was this honest adoration that fueled the ever-brewing chagrin of Corbel's rather… _outspoken_ significant other. But _heaven above_ , the damn male feline just could not seem to grasp the _simple concept_ that it was not. like. _that_.

Really.

Avenir Gileo was an idiot anyway. Anyone who made serious academic propositions claiming that some unnamed higher power might actually be responsible for the differences between monster and human souls was a bloody _lost cause_. Corbel said she found his spirituality refreshing, insisting that Gaster was missing the point, and, for the love of monsterkind, would he _please_ try to practice more civility towards ideas outside the boundaries of his own research?

Of course, in the spirit of having an answer for everything, Gaster had replied that he did not appreciate "lackadaisical strolls about the realm of pseudoscience" when serious theoretical groundwork on the study of souls could be developed. The whole "higher power" nonsense just served to halt scientific progress, really.

Most monsters were rather spiritual as a whole, and in this regard Gaster was soundly in the minority.

So, yes, there were some things on which they disagreed.

Anyway, the other feline had been privy to _enough_ advantages throughout his entire life, having hailed from a background of _noble_ monster origins. Thus, Gaster was hardly afraid to hack him at the knees whenever the opportunity presented itself. Whether this came in the form of besting the over-privileged pisspot during lectures or in simple, passing commentary, the skeletal monster was never terribly picky with his medium of verbal slights.

Corbel, however, was having _none_ of this foolishness – on either side. For example: Gaster had once loudly declared that Avenir had "just enough intellect to rival a jar of clotted cream," to which Corbel immediately stomped upon his foot, nearly sending him to the infirmary. Likewise, she had slammed a door in Avenir's face after he had insisted that Gaster was a "godless, low-bred, miscreant," earning him a bloody snout, five days of the silent treatment, and a glare cold enough to induce frostbite. Therefore, the two rivals did strive to keep the antagonism _away_ from Corbel, who, quite honestly, did not deserve to be caught in the middle of their _childish_ animosity…

…Alright, well, not to split hairs, but "clotted cream" had been an incorrect assessment and much too generous anyway; an "overdone potato" was a far more precise comparison.

But Gaster kept that to himself.

The skeletal monster blinked, forcibly willing such antipathy from his mind. His hilltop sanctuary was not for such thoughts – especially not when Corbel had so kindly graced him with her presence.

"Honestly, it _is_ nice that you are finally joining me here," he admitted, his tone genuine. "I have only been extending this invitation for months now, but it has certainly felt like eons."

Though she had moved her attention to the heavens, her expression remained somewhat passive. "It is just the sky, Gaster," she replied, reflective eyes sweeping the cosmos. "I can see it just fine from the chapel."

"Tch, the _chapel_ ," he scoffed, waving his free hand dismissively. "From here you can see all of the constellations in their full glory, not some sorry, light-polluted rendition obscured by the vestige of organized religion. No, here they are simply unfiltered and _grand_." He peered over at her as if anticipating some kind of revelation to grace her features. "Do they not inspire you?"

"Well…" Corbel began thoughtfully, "if we are going to be wholly literal and scientific about this…not _all_ of the constellations are out, as you say. Some are not visible in this hemisphere during this particular time of year." There was a glance out of the corner of her eye and the very hint if a smirk. "Semantics are so _very_ important in science, are they not? At least, that is what you so _grandly_ espoused during the last lecture."

Gaster placed his hand to his chest at the mock effrontery. "Could it be?" he balked, "Using my own words _against_ me?"

"And I _do_ listen to you when you prattle on and on about your little astronomy hobby, you know," she teased. " _You_ may not have noticed this amid your verbosity, but I find the information interesting."

He chuckled at this, rolling over onto his back again. "Then you really should have accepted this invitation last I offered. You missed a stellar show of shooting stars."

Leaning back upon the grass to join him, the feline's face contorted in discomfort at its dampness. She turned to issue the skeletal monster a flat look. "Gaster, the weather has been bloody _awful_ , and I have had my own priorities and coursework to attend to," she countered. "Anyway, for the past few weeks haven't you been locked away in your dormitory in another one of your bouts of reclusiveness? I have barely been able to have five words with you outside of lecture because you keep disappearing to heaven knows where. Trust me, I understand the need to get away from time to time, but you…"

Mid sentence, her attention had shifted to a satchel resting near their feet. Atop it sat a _very_ familiar portfolio neatly bound in worn leather. Corbel paused.

"Wait, wait – is that…your _notebook?_ " she huffed. "Gaster, I thought this was supposed to be your "sanctuary" from all that, you bloody hypocrite! You made it such a point to tell me to leave _my_ work behind."

"Oh, it _is_ , but when the stars inspire and I have nothing to pen my thoughts upon, it can absolutely spoil the experience," the skeletal monster replied, waving his hand absently. "Regardless, I have lately been in the habit of keeping it close to my person. A _thousand_ pardons."

Corbel rolled her eyes.

"Tch, you wound me."

She reached for the notebook then, but he did not stop her. Had it been anyone else, this would not have been the case.

As she casually flipped through the pages, her expression quickly furrowed from confusion to clear frustration; the cramped writings and erudite diagrams contained within told a tale that was as good as gibberish.

"Augh, you ungodly tease! You aim for so-called 'medical innovation,'" her voice dropped to poorly mimic his own, "yet you cannot trust anyone enough to write in anything other than _Hands?_ "

He shrugged. "I enjoy my privacy, as you well know."

"Gaster, seriously, _what_ is wrong with you? You wrote your last essay _entirely_ in Hands, and Professor Grinstead had to personally request for you to translate it for him. What is the point of developing new theoretical constructs if _no one_ can read your work?"

"First of all, Professor Grinstead is a skeletal monster, so he should have at least been _familiar_ with the language. One would think such an accomplished academic as he would possess an appreciation for his own heritage – and I am only _half_ skeletal and still fluent. I know not what his excuse is." He sighed. "Secondly, the theories contained within that portfolio are largely unfinished, and I will not have people bastardizing my incomplete thoughts."

Corbel cast him a peevish look.

"Alright, well, your obvious and misplacedparanoia aside," she continued, dryly, "I will never understand why you so _willfully_ play with fire like that. One of these days you are going to get yourself _expelled_ for your arrogance or boredom or whatever it is, and then: _oops!_ Farewell to your doctoral training."

"Being that I am at the top of the class by leaps and bounds, I am _wholly_ unconcerned," he stated frankly, propping himself upon his elbow. "And what are you anyway – _my mother?_ "

The Abyssinian rolled her eyes and snapped the portfolio closed. "So you feel as if you can do these things only because of your course markings. Lovely. What will you do once you've finished and can no longer rely on such arbitrary delineations? Your _amazing_ prowess in Green Magic?"

Gaster ignored the obvious dig; he had never been terribly proficient in that flavour of magic. His inherit abilities were far better suited for…well, not _magical_ healing, that was for certain.

"Create more arbitrary delineations, clearly."

"You are _hopeless_."

"If that were true, I would apparently be dead – according to the supposed "laws" of Soul Magic. Oh, what is that tired little ditty about the importance Hope and Love for a monster's soul? Yes, please tell it to me again, _mother_ , I do love a good bedtime story."

"I am going to _hit_ you."

"Oh, I so _hope_ you won't."

Without missing a beat, the notebook soundly connected with his arm. Crying out amid his own surprised laughter, Gaster was forced to roll out of the way just as a second blow skirted past the sleeve of his tunic. Resolved to cease the ensuing onslaught, he waved his arm in the air, and the notebook within Corbel's grasp adopted a faint violet hue, matching the aura of magic that engulfed his hands. Flicking his wrist, Gaster gently tugged his cherished possession from her, directing the object so that it floated just a metre above their heads. The feline monster quietly observed it hovering for a moment before snapping her attention back to him.

"So, Mr. Privacy, are you going to tell me what you and Dr. Athelas have been working on that has made you such a bloody recluse again, or are you going to make me guess until sunrise? This may come as a surprise to you, but I do not know Hands, nor am I about to play some juvenile game of Keep Away at the top of a _hill_."

Plucking the notebook from the air, he smiled and reached for his satchel. "Ah, yes, funny you should mention that…" he trailed, carefully rummaging through its contents. From its depths, he produced a small item no larger than a balled fist and wrapped carefully within a wad of white cloth.

Corbel blinked.

Freeing the item from its padding, the skeletal monster was helpless against the smile that instantly commandeered his face. "This…" he held it aloft to better show the device, " _This_ is going to change how we view magical energy."

His companion's expression quickly adopted the very definition of 'skeptical.'

"…A lantern?"

He turned it in the moonlight, taking a quiet moment to admire its simple design. "This prototype is deceptive in appearance, I know. But look, look here, do you see this coil, how it is wrapped around this piece of fluorite in oil? It…ah, how do I explain this…" he mused, tapping his fingers against the glass. "…Well, in summary, Dr. Athelas and I have found that the properties of this particular combination of materials holds onto the energy of monster magic, absorbing it before it scatters. The contained energy within this…eh, _buffer_ , if you will, then serves to prolong the oil for light. It does not matter what kind of magic is used either – the basic energy that comprises all magic is equivalent from monster to monster."

"Equivalent?"

Gaster's eyelights seemed to brighten.

"Yes! Think of basic healing with Green Magic, Corbel! The transference of magical energy from one soul into the soul of another? Such transference and subsequent healing would only take effect if the base energies were the same in some basic structure, correct?"

"I…well, yes, I suppose that is correct, but—"

"Wait! See here…" Conjuring his magic yet again, he gently pressed his glowing fingertips to the side of the glass. After but a moment, the coils within the bulb adopted the same glowing hue of violet, retaining the colour even after Gaster removed his touch.

"And, now: we add the catalyst…"

Reaching into his pocket, Gaster produced a piece of flint and a small strip of wool. Igniting the wool with the flint block, he carefully dropped the burning material into the opening at the top of the lantern and quickly moved his hand. An intense flash of energy consumed the wool and oil in an instant, leaving a small purple flame wavering brightly in the stead of the vanished physical materials.

Yet even without the catalyst materials, the flame kept burning – seemingly existing of its own accord.

"Look at how it lights! Brilliant!" he effused, closely watching the violet fire dance within its glass confines, its luminosity both unnatural and beautiful among nature's deep darkness. "Like our own star on earth…" He paused, shifting his attention to his friend. "Please, have a look…just…be _very_ careful with it now that it has been ignited. Dr. Athelas and I have found it can be a tad…volatile if jostled."

Corbel remained silent for a moment, observing both the invention and Gaster himself. Slowly, she reached out and gently touched the lantern, noting the odd lack of heat. She furrowed her brow.

"I…will admit, I've never seen a lantern glow in such a way…" she murmured, smoothing her fingers along the curve of the glass, "…but…I suppose I still don't understand what the purpose of this is. I mean…how long does it last, and…and what is the difference between this and fire magic? Do these coils just change the colour of the flame or…?"

"Well, like I said, this is only a prototype. But, yes, you are correct - this is not fire magic, but that is also not the point. Focus for a moment on the fact that this is _not_ fire magic, but _my_ own magic creating this flame. Our trial runs have suggested that the fire contained within has a life of about a week, and the—"

"Wait. Hold. Did you say week of light?"

"Indeed. I had hoped for it to be a bit longer, but the flouri—"

"A full _week?_ With _standard_ soul magic?"

"…Yes."

Corbel gaped, her tail swishing with obvious excitement. "Gaster, this…this is unheard of!" She stared at the device, unbelieving. "However did you two come up with this?"

"Dr. Athelas is a surprising fellow," he replied, finding immense satisfaction in Corbel's approval. "He knows much more about other disciplines than he lets on, though I am not certain why he hides it. The inception of the idea for this, however, was my own. I simply wanted to break down the fundamentals of the energy within monster magic in order to better understand how our souls dissipate so quickly after death while human souls linger."

Corbel stiffened slightly at this. Gaster did not notice.

"Magic is essentially energy, and if I can tangibly measure its output, _think_ of the possibilities! Imagine…imagine something like this on a larger scale. If this lantern can hold this small amount of my energy, then perhaps it is possible to contain something as complex as a soul. Think of what medical miracles we could accomplish if we could study the _soul_ of a monster, Corbel! _Think of it!_ "

The feline monster hesitated, her gaze shifting between Gaster's now impassioned expression and the odd little lantern situated innocently upon the grass.

"These are…these are quite the ideas you have here," she began slowly. "But how on earth is that even possible? To hold…a soul?" She shifted in discomfort at the utterance of her own words. "Gaster…with all due respect, I am not sure such a thing is…well…wise."

Gaster's smile fell slightly. "I…don't understand."

She sighed. "I mean…you know…considering how the humans already feel about us? Creating a source of light with this kind of longevity based on standard soul magic is fantastic in itself…but extending the purpose of such an invention to study an isolated soul? I don't kno—"

"An hour ago did you think something like this was even possible?" he gestured widely, defensively. "It _is_ possible, and this? _This is proof_."

At her worried expression, he paused. Placing a reassuring hand upon her shoulder, his voice softened.

"You always tell me to expand my horizons, Corbel. Now tell me: how can we move forward in our discipline without this kind of innovation? Think of the research opportunities it may provide. Think of what it may be able to do for our people. Here, just…" He blew out the flame.

"Please… You try."

She stared at him for a few seconds until he prompted her again with a gentle motion of approval. Hesitantly, Corbel conjured her own magic, the deepness of the emerald green alighting her fingertips with an untold prowess in healing. Though she barely caressed the side of the lantern, the green hue of her magic transferred immediately into the coils contained within. Repeating the igniting process, Gaster quickly added the fire and wool catalyst. After a single violent flash of light, the lantern settled into a vibrant display of flickering emerald.

In the backdrop of the night, empty glass and metal had suddenly become a lambent jewel of improbability.

Of possibility.

Corbel remained still in silent contemplation before turning her eyes back to Gaster… Yet, before she could offer any additional commentary, her hand abruptly shot out for his, clutching it with what only could be described as genuine _fear_.

" _ **Gaster.**_ "

Thoroughly confused by this rather sudden shift, he observed as the profound panic swiftly gripped her, starkly contrasting the thoughtful consideration that had been present just seconds prior. A moment before he could utter any concerned query, though, Gaster too was seized with an intense bolt of trepidation – for dotted in her eyes…were the approaching reflections of fire.

Of torches.

"Humans, Gaster, _"_ she whispered fiercely, claws digging into his palm. " _Humans_."

"Up there! Look!" commanded a gruff voice.

"Death! Death and its Hellbeast!"

"Witchcraft! _Witchcraft!_ "

" _Seize the murderers!"_

A chorus of angry shouts and exclamations erupted from the small mob now charging up the hill, pouring their proclamations of vindication into the evening quiet. Demands for confession dominated the rhetoric – for conjuring dark and malicious magics, for spreading an unholy plague, for stealing the souls of the innocent dead. Torches ripped through the air, their angered and pained visages twisted with the intent of revenge.

" _ **Burn them!**_ "

And with a sharp inhale: Gaster woke.

* * *

 _Next: The Scorched Earth._


End file.
